


Delete That

by dedkake



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fans & Fandom, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Comic-Con, Cosplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4350494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedkake/pseuds/dedkake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik go to Comic Con every year because they are nerds.  And Erik has a giant crush on Patrick Stewart that is just not spoken about.  Ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delete That

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme that I've lost track of—again from way back when the X-Men cast showed up for SDCC 2013. I personally have never been to SDCC, but I've been to other conventions and done some reading and hopefully this is at least partially accurate to the huge convention atmosphere.

“I just bought our tickets for Comic Con,” Charles says over his laptop.

They’re having coffee at the kitchen table like they do every morning, both of them freshly showered after a morning jog. Their mornings are like clockwork, wake up, roll into sweats and running shoes and out the door for a run around the grounds, shower, drink coffee over their computers to catch up on the news as they slowly start to feel like real people again. Add in some kissing and petting throughout as necessary. Neither of them would change it for the world.

Except sometimes Erik would like to throw in a good kick. “Why?” he asks, glaring up from his iPad. “There’s nothing there this year. It’s a waste of money and time.”

Charles scoffs into his coffee mug. “There’s always _something_ ,” he says. “We could at least finish our Starfleet uniforms and walk around.”

“But no one cares about _The Next Generation_ with all this reboot nonsense going on,” Erik grumbles. His disdain for the new movies is no secret, but Charles knows that, deep down, Erik really likes anything to do with the Star Trek universe and just feels a little angry at fans who only like the series now that it’s fresh.

“It’ll be fun,” Charles says, pulling his best pout, the one that he knows Erik can’t say no to without feeling guilty.

Making an annoyed noise in his throat, Erik turns back to his screen. “Whatever,” he mumbles. “Fine.”

Charles grins and sends Erik fifteen smiley faces on Facebook since Erik isn’t looking at him to see it.

-

_It’s still not on there!_

Erik stares at Charles’ text for five minutes, unable to place exactly what Charles is talking about. Finally, he gives up.

_What?_ he sends back.

_X-men!!!_ is Charles’ immediate response.

Erik’s heart sinks. They’ve both been dodging the topic for months, an unspoken agreement not to jinx the possibility. But now it’s a week before the convention and, while the new movie is getting lots of attention on Twitter, there’s still no mention of it being featured at the con. Star Trek might be the reason the two of them give their friends for going to Comic Con, but X-Men is closest to their hearts.

Not even allowing himself to believe it, Erik sends back, _Maybe Singer will be at the Fox panel._

Charles responds with a sad emoticon.

-

Finally, _finally_ , after long last, it is Comic Con. They’ve gone every year for nearly 10 years, and sometimes even go to smaller cons in between, and Charles still feels giddy every time he steps off the plane. It feels like the first time each year, and is always as enjoyable. And this year is no different.

As they struggle into their old Frodo and Gandalf costumes, Charles can’t stop himself from pulling Erik down for a kiss. Except it doesn’t really stop at a kiss, because Erik is just as excited as he is, even if he’ll never say, and they end up very tousled and twenty minutes later than they’d planned.

Straightening his clothes, Charles grins down at Erik, who’s still sprawled out on their messy hotel bed catching his breath.

“Erik,” Charles says, holding his phone up, ready to catch the perfect picture.

He gets it when Erik glances up at him and has approximately thirty seconds to try to post it to his tumblr before Erik figures out what’s going on and tackles him to the floor.

“Don’t you dare post that online,” Erik growls, blushing all the way down his neck.

Charles laughs helplessly, going limp under Erik as he tosses his phone across the floor. “Too late,” he gasps.

Erik stares at the phone across the room, clearly terrified, and then punishes Charles with another kiss. Charles is more than willing to accept.

“You are horrible and I hate you,” Erik says, voice weak and breathless, and Charles pulls him down for another kiss.

-

Erik grins as he and Charles are stopped for their fifth picture in fifteen minutes. They spend a lot of time on their costumes, and, really, their costumes are better than most people’s. This might be Erik’s favorite part of cons in general, random con-goers stopping them for photographs.

Both he and Charles are marginally tumblr-famous for their cosplay skills and general wit, so more than one person who stops them mention Charles’ newest post—“Gandalf got some”—and some even ask for more. Erik doesn’t mind the extra attention, and it’s rewarding enough to see Charles blush each time.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken that,” Charles mutters, as a pair of giggling girls skip away from them.

Erik ruffles his hair, glad that Charles doesn’t need to wear a wig for this particular costume, and says, “Learned your lesson yet?”

Charles catches his hand and gives it a kiss. “Nope,” he says, grinning. “My quest for pictures of you in cosplay and my quest for sexy pictures of you will continue to overlap for as long as I live.”

Erik has to turn away, glad that he’s wearing enough beard to cover up most of his own blushing.

Except it might have been a mistake to turn away because he catches sight of the most amazing Captain Picard he’s ever seen off his TV screen and his knees go a little weak. His fingers itch for his camera, but then he remembers that, if he takes a picture, someone will know, and that is just _embarrassing_ , so he grips at his Gandalf robes instead.

“Let’s go,” he says, still unable to look away from the captain. That’s a mistake, because Charles knows _everything_ and has already figured him out.

Pulling away from Erik, Charles pushes his way through the crowd to the Picard and Erik sinks back against the wall, covering his face with his hands. He can’t watch. He doesn’t understand how Charles can just go up to random people and ask for their pictures.

“Erik,” Charles says a moment later, pulling at his hands. Erik peeks out at him.

Chuckling softly, Charles holds his phone in front of Erik’s face, the picture of Charles and the Picard clear and perfect on its screen. “I still don’t understand you,” Charles says, tugging Erik behind him as he makes off into the crowd. “You love it when people stop us and yet you can’t bring yourself to ask anyone else.”

Erik pouts and says, “You seem to understand perfectly.”

-

Saturday starts off feeling much less hectic than Friday. They’re in their Starfleet uniforms, but since neither of them are clearly dressed up as specific characters, they aren’t getting as much attention as they had as Frodo and Gandalf. Charles doesn’t mind, but Erik is taking it hard, sulking a few steps behind Charles as they move from panel to panel, booth to booth.

Eventually, Erik stops, dropping to the floor against a free space on the wall. “I’m just going to sit here for a while,” he says grumpily, already digging his iPad out of his bag.

Weighing his options carefully, Charles asks, “Do you mind if I keep going? I’ll come back in a few minutes, but there was some stuff I wanted back there.”

Erik waves him off, already buried in the internet, and Charles grins. He doesn’t like being alone at conventions, but he’s used to Erik’s need to recharge after being around so many people. Besides, it really will give Charles the chance to buy some things.

He goes immediately to a booth they’d passed earlier that’s selling high-end looking posters, prints, and shirts. Erik had stopped three times in front of the large poster of Captain Picard at the end of the booth, but hadn’t stepped within purchasing distance. Just like with pictures of cosplayers, Charles had discovered early on that Erik was unwilling to buy fan swag in person. He’ll spend hours shopping for just the right thing online, regardless of the cost, but at conventions, he barely spends any money at all.

So Charles takes it upon himself to buy Erik something each year. Working fast, Charles picks out a handful of Star Trek and X-Men posters and prints along with a Picard facepalm meme magnet and digs out his money to pay.

“What happened to your Lieutenant, Captain?” the woman manning the booth asks.

Charles grins, swelling with pride at being recognizable, and wishes Erik were there, too—at this point, there’s no way Erik will believe him. “He’s just tired,” he responds, handing over the correct amount.

As he waits for his change, he considers offering Erik the chance to skip the inevitably disappointing Fox panels to go back and rest in their room, but then there’s a body crashing into him and a familiar hand wrapping around his arm, grip just on the wrong side of tight.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” the vendor says with a grin. Erik doesn’t even spare her a glance, the slightly demonic glint in his eye focused entirely on Charles.

“Charles,” he says, breathless, opening his mouth to continue, but nothing comes out. Charles can feel him practically vibrating.

Gently peeling Erik’s hand from his arm, Charles thanks the vendor and leads Erik away, surprised when he follows docily. “What is it?” Charles asks, when they’re a good distance from that stand.

“Charles,” Erik starts again, and now Charles can even see the way that Erik is shaking. Hopefully he’s not about to be sick or something. “Charles, _they’re here_.”

-

Erik doesn’t know how they manage to work through the chaos of the con, but they are seated in the X-Men panel and he can barely believe it. He knows Charles is trying to engage him in some sort of conversation and that Charles is probably just as excited as he is, based on the tone of his comments, but he can’t focus on any of the words coming from his mouth, especially not once the panel gets underway.

The energy in the room ramps up as the actors make their way onto the stage, and time seems to be moving incredibly fast and exceedingly slow all at once. It seems like half the audience is surprised by the appearance of the X-Men cast, choking on shocked joy that Erik can relate to, while the other half had been expecting this from the start and can’t stop screaming, which Erik can also relate to—though his screams are internal.

He can’t even pretend he isn’t hanging off of Patrick Stewart’s every word, something he’s loath to admit most of the time. Charles tries to get him to loosen up about it, often over-exaggerating his own adoration of Ian Mckellen, but he just doesn’t understand. It’s _Patrick Stewart._

“He’s so charming,” Charles murmurs, his lips pressed right up against Erik’s ear halfway through the panel. Erik shivers at the contact, half annoyed that his concentration has been interrupted and half loving that Charles can share this with him.

When the panel’s over, Erik is still in shock. He’d just spent an hour in the same room as Patrick Stewart. Yes, there had been a ton of new information about the upcoming X-Men film, and yes, some of it had been _terrible_ , but he can’t even begin to process that. His heart is still pounding and he’s grinning harder than usual and his fingers ache. Glancing down at his hand, he sees he’s gripping Charles’ hand tight enough to turn both their fingers white.

Charles is smiling at him, though, and squeezes back gently, leaning in to place a light kiss on Erik’s cheek. “If you don’t get a move on,” he says, tugging Erik to his feet, “we’ll never make it to their signing lines.”

“What—” Erik starts, trying to figure out what Charles means. And then it dawns on him. They can meet him. They can meet Patrick Stewart. Patrick Stewart might talk to them. He feels a little faint. “We don’t,” he chokes out. “We can just go back to the room. The line will probably be too long.”

“Are you serious?” Charles asks. When Erik looks, Charles’ eyebrow is raised. “We are going. And you’re going to look him in the eye and tell him your name so he can sign your new poster.”

His heart in his throat, all Erik can do is nod.

-

Erik shoulders his way through the crowd as they make their way away from the autograph lines and Charles follows, grinning down at the pictures he took of the two of them with Patrick Stewart. He’s only half aware that Erik is trying to get them somewhere they can buy food because he’s still riding high on the excitement. Even though they’d had to choose between Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen, Charles is glad that he’d stuck with Erik.

“Which one of these should I post?” he asks, flipping through the pictures and decidedly not handing his phone over to Erik.

“Why do you need to post any of them?” Erik asks, his head snapping back to glare at Charles.

And that’s when Charles sees it, the extra glint in Erik’s eyes in the photos isn’t just the reflection of Patrick Stewart’s amazingness—it’s tears. Tears that are still clinging to the corners of Erik’s eyes.

Charles feels his smile grow wider and he looks back down at the picture on his phone, zooming in on Erik’s face. “You’re crying,” he says, feeling awed.

He’s always known about Erik’s massive crush on Patrick Stewart, even though Erik tries to hide it, and he’s never been jealous, not really—he finds it more endearing than anything else. Erik gets attached to so few things and even fewer people and Charles can’t help but to find it attractive whenever Erik does get attached. And it’s even more adorable now, with the grin on Erik’s face in the picture despite the tears in his eyes.

When he looks up though, he’s met with a less than cute image. Erik is glaring at him, the tears stubbornly still in his eyes, as he hold out a hand, obviously waiting for Charles’ phone. “So what if I am?” he grinds out, free hand gripping tight to the strap of his bag.

Considering for only a moment, Charles places his hand in Erik’s instead of his phone and tugs Erik onward. There’s no way he’s letting Erik delete these pictures.

“Charles,” Erik growls in his warning tone, but Charles ignores him.

“What should I caption this one?” he says, grinning at the way Erik’s fingers tighten around his. He knows he’s on thin ice here—tormenting Erik doesn’t always end well, but he can’t help it. This is too cute.

“Delete those pictures,” Erik says, pulling Charles to a halt in the middle of the walkway, heedless of the giant pikachu that nearly slams into him from behind.

Stumbling a little himself, Charles holds his phone close to his chest. “Are you sure you want me to delete the only pictures that exist in the whole world of you with the one and only Patrick Stewart?” It’s possibly a lower blow than necessary, but Charles is _not_ deleting the pictures.

Scowling, Erik tugs his hand free and storms away without another word.

-

It’s been almost an hour since he’d heard Charles walk away from their room. Erik had rushed back to the room and thrown the latch so that Charles couldn’t follow him in. Charles, too polite to bang and shout, had resorted to spamming him with texts and facebook messages from his seat outside the door.

Erik’s been ignoring all of that with his head under a pillow and Next Generation episodes blasting from his laptop. He can’t believe he’d actually cried. He’d been so happy he hadn’t even really noticed, not until they were walking away and his throat was tight and his face was hot and he could barely hear anything over the rush in his ears.

And of course Charles had caught it on camera and _of course_ the pictures are of the greatest moment in Erik’s life and cannot be deleted. Fuck. And now he’s stuck in his room with an empty stomach and Charles is gone.

He wants to cry again.

But that’s absurd and will not happen. He scrambles around in the sheets looking for his phone instead. 

_where the fuck did you go asshole_ , he sends once he has it, ignoring the last mushy text Charles had sent him.

Charles does not respond within the following minute so Erik tries again. _you better be coming back you fuckwad_.

Charles remains silent.

Halfway through typing his third angry text, Erik is interrupted by a light knock on the door. He’s on his feet in an instant, unlatching it and pulling it open to reveal an exhausted Charles with an unknown plastic bag in his hand.

“I didn’t post anything,” Charles says quickly, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “And you can have the pictures.”

Erik takes the phone as Charles offers it, but doesn’t move aside to let him in. He hasn’t heard an apology yet, and although he really wasn’t looking for one, he’s not inclined to be nice yet.

Charles hesitates, shifting the bag from one hand to the other and lifting it up. “Thai?” he says, his tone more of a question than a statement, but as soon as the bag is in the air, Erik can smell it and his mouth starts to water.

Grabbing the bag, Erik steps back inside, grinning down as soon as his back is turned. He loves Thai food and Charles hates it—says it’s too spicy. It’s as close to an apology as he’s going to get, he supposes, and his stomach is inclined to accept.

The desk and chairs are covered in cosplay materials so they eat on the bed instead. They do not talk, listening quietly instead to the episode of Star Trek currently playing, although the laptop is turned away from them. And as Charles takes small bites from his container of the blandest looking fried rice Erik has ever laid eyes on, he has an idea.

“Charles,” he says, breaking the silence.

Charles looks up, the hopeful look on his face so perfect that Erik almost decides to forget his plan altogether. Almost.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want with those pictures,” he says, and Charles’ eyebrows knit together.

“I wouldn’t—” Charles starts to say, but Erik cuts him off.

“You can do whatever you want, if you let me take a picture of you eating my Pad Thai,” Erik finishes, holding out the container in Charles’ direction. Charles had ordered it extra spicy because he knows what Erik likes even though they _never_ get Thai anymore.

Charles’ expression falls and his lip twists in disgust, but he grabs the container anyway. He peers inside carefully and then looks back up at Erik. “This is the only way you’ll forgive me?” he asks, resigned.

Erik grabs his phone and holds it up for the perfect shot.

Charles cringes through the whole bite, his cheeks turning red and his eyes watering. After, Erik pats Charles on the back long enough to make sure he isn’t going to choke before turning back to his phone.

_Some captains can’t handle their gagh_ , he captions the picture before posting it.

-

The alarm on Erik’s phone is blaring from somewhere in the mess of blankets on the bed and it takes Charles a moment to realize that it’s because they have a plane to catch. Erik seems perfectly unmoved by the noise, so Charles slowly unwraps himself from Erik’s embrace to feel out the bed for the phone.

When he finally finds it and swipes the alarm off, he sees the two of them grinning up at him from either side of Patrick Stewart. Erik’s made the image the background of his phone and Charles finds his stomach fluttering.

Carefully, he sets the phone aside. Instead of saying anything that might risk ruining it, he gently kisses Erik awake.


End file.
